Helmet
Strap It On

The musical encoding of the concept of powerless rage is "Strap it On" by Helmet.

Anger, despair, alienation.

WHAM! Ten seconds, then "Repetition" explodes: the repetition is that of the muted riffs, and each is a stabbing blow to the side soaked in acid.

"Strap it On" is running a hundred miles per hour through the city under a red-tinted sky, without concerning oneself with others: expressionless fish.

The relentless march of "Rude," the hallucinated structures of "Sinatra," worthy of the last Goya, the lucidly mad fury of "FBLA": self-obsessed, try to kill, you're so DEPRESSED!

Mengede and Hamilton distort the guitars beyond belief: a lava flow, a tentacular fluid that pervades; dense, relentless. Experiencing the beginning of "Blacktop" is like being overwhelmed and buried by asphalt.

"Distracted" is perhaps the flagship of the album: the beginning is brutal, the continuation is a deadly trap, a crushing clockwork mechanism. A heaviness that Helmet will never contemplate again.

"Make Room" only confirms that John Stanier is one of the most talented drummers in the world: powerful, impeccable, expressive. Just what's needed for a composer who demands somersaults.

I've read criticisms of this composer's vocal performance, the genius Page Hamilton; for me, this performance couldn't have been better. The exhausted, desperate screams of "Rude": SAY COMPLETE... SAY SYCOPHANTIC! Growls that introduce a tail that leaves no escape: it's not dark, it has nothing to do with darkness, DAMN IT, it's just that it's over, resisting is useless; this seems to communicate the anthological ending of the track. Not to mention the concluding "Murder": NO ONE IS SAFE!!!RUAAAUAAAAARGGGH!

Holy truth, especially in America. Page's explosion seals a masterpiece of Post-hardcore/Noise, of incalculable influence.

Let the walls tremble...

Eighty reviews; and that's enough.

Goodbye, this time for real.